


Hi My Name is Cody...

by sleepdeprivedtechie



Category: Shelter (2007)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:41:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14227335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdeprivedtechie/pseuds/sleepdeprivedtechie
Summary: Alrighty, u/carryokee inspired me to put this last little ditty out into the wild.  It's not the best, but its something.  I had done some other first person POV/"internal monologues" for other characters, but was never really confident with this one.  Don't be too harsh! If there's interest, I'll put the other ones up too.





	Hi My Name is Cody...

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, u/carryokee inspired me to put this last little ditty out into the wild. It's not the best, but its something. I had done some other first person POV/"internal monologues" for other characters, but was never really confident with this one. Don't be too harsh! If there's interest, I'll put the other ones up too.

“Hi. My name is Cody and I’m an alcoholic.”

How did I get here? Sitting in a room full of people much older and more fucked up than I ever thought I could be. I had a great home life as a kid, well for most of my life at least; never had to want for anything, loving parents, surfing. So why am I now standing in front of these strangers sharing my personal problems? Fucking Jeannie, that’s why. Twenty-five years old and she still knows how to get under my skin, make me feel like that five year old kid in the living room of that run-down shithole in San Pedro. 

The big 2-1 and my brilliant idea was to go visit her and what’s-his-name in Portland; Alan was long gone, but Jeannie still glommed onto whomever she could, whoever had money and a cock. I thought I was doing better handling her and her bullshit, but boy was I wrong. “Let’s celebrate Codes! I can’t believe how big and adult you’ve gotten! Let your mother buy you a drink!” Why did I trust her? I knew she had a problem just like Papi did; and even though he won’t admit it, Zach can get out of hand, too. Just like any other frat boy college student I had been drinking long before turning 21, but I wasn’t going to ruin the moment for her, besides I could handle a beer or two with my mother. At dinner, she’s already three sheets to the wind before the salads come out, and pushing all the buttons she knows she can. If Zach and Shaun can afford such a big house, why are you going to “such a shitty school” on scholarship? You’ve been around fags so long, you probably don’t know what to do with a woman if she sat on your lap. Somehow, the “beer or two with my mother” turned into drowning myself in alcohol at the seediest of strip clubs while Jeannie’s boyfriend threw money at girls to get me laid. I vaguely remember some blow job from some blonde that tasted like cigarettes and an “atta-boy” from what’s-his-name. I know I woke up the next morning in some motel with no cash and Jeannie nowhere in sight. I called one of the frat brothers to come and pick me up, because they would have the decency not to ask twenty questions about why and where I was. When Zach called to ask how the trip went, I lied and felt like shit. 

That trip haunted me for months, but the drinking in my room by myself seemed to help; getting so shit-faced I was numb would help me get to sleep easier. The brothers would always be there to lend a helping hand up to my room or into the bathroom. One night, Jeannie calls out of the blue to “shoot-the-shit with her kid,” which I know is code for “what’s-his-name walked out on me and I need some money.” I should have hung up. She asks how classes are going and I tell her I’ve been struggling as of late - a stupid move - which just brings up the topic of “why go at all? Obviously I’m more like her than I want to admit and am just not cut out for it.” I don’t remember what happened that night. From what others told me, I climbed so far into a bottle, I locked myself in the bathroom and tore the place up; there was a raging holiday party happening that night, so it took some chick needing to puke for them to realize the bathroom was locked. After waiting a long time and not hearing anyone in there, they finally broke the door down and found me passed out, bloody-knuckled from smashing mirrors and shit. 

Couldn’t hide it after that; Zach and Shaun took me home for “medical leave of absence” and hovered like good parents would. Never judged me for lying about the trip or not asking for help when I needed it. Dad and Pop insisted on keeping my cell phone in the kitchen, a public place where anyone can read the caller ID, screen my phone calls. When Jeannie would call my cell to try and talk with me, to apologize, Dad and Pop wouldn’t even let me know. They took care of me like they always do. 

At the beginning of summer, they had loosened the reins a little and let me go to what I said would be a small get together of brothers and college friends. A few hours in and the party was going crazy! I knew I shouldn’t have started, but the booze was free and flowing! I was just starting to feel the buzz, when I saw some girl - who had obviously pre-gamed this shindig - being tossed around by some guy I didn’t recognize. She’s so far gone, she can barely keep her head up, and something inside of me clicked. I dropped the solo cup on the nearest table and forced the guy off of her, and got a nice sock to the face in return. Bozo messes with me, I get three brothers rallying around me in an instant, and he gets a not so nice kick to the curb. I gather her up and take her inside where I let the host know I’m going to call an ambulance for her because she is not in good shape, and who knows what that guy tried. 

The ride to the ER was scary, I couldn’t help but feel like I was watching myself getting worked on after my rager in the bathroom. I thought about this girl and what might have caused her to drink to the point of no return; did she have a personal “Jeannie”? I called Pop from my cell at the hospital because I didn’t want to hurt Dad anymore than I already had, and just broke down; I told him about the party, the booze, and the girl, and how I could see I had a problem and needed help. When Shaun pulled up to me sitting on the curb outside the ER holding an ice pack to my face, I was pretty sure he’d read me the riot act about lying to them; instead I got enveloped into a huge hug, and I cried like a baby. He looked at my face, with the eye slowly swelling and turning purple and I saw compassion and sympathy looking back at me. We sat in the hospital parking lot while I calmed down, discussing a plan of action. I realize now that’s why I called Pop directly instead of the house or Dad, he’s always been the man of reason; he’ll think everything through and make a plan, while Dad is such a caring person he always acts. First thing to do was call Dad and give him an update - tell him everything about my night and let him know I’m ok. Then we agreed I should block Jeannie’s number in my cell, and leave it up to him and Dad to talk to her about not contacting me again; in the morning, we’d start looking into therapists I could talk to so that I’m not dumping my shit on just him and Dad; and lastly, get some surfing in to clear my mind. 

On the drive home, we passed one of the oft ignored churches with a sign advertising for AA meetings; something inside of me crept up and I felt I needed to go in, just to see if anything could be done for me. I asked Pop to turn the car around and if he would come in with me to see what things looked like. I knew he’d be uncomfortable, but like the good father he is, he went with me anyways; we stayed and drank bad coffee, listening to people who had it much worse than I did, but I felt they wouldn’t judge me.

That was four years ago, and while I’ve had my slips and recoveries, life couldn’t be better for me. I haven’t heard from Jeannie in almost a year now, and I think she’s finally taken the hint that she’s not good for me. I did wind up going back to school, and finished with great success and thankfully have a good paying job! The frat understood why I had to move out and why I stopped going to keggers, but when I did show up for tailgate parties before football games they always had some frou-frou, non-alcoholic drink in a loudly decorated cup for me to carry around. As I look out from the podium at tonight’s meeting, and live through all my fucked up moments, I’m reminded about the good things I have; one being that girl I rescued from the summer party. She sits dead center smiling at me with her whole heart, like I can do no wrong. She came looking for me about six months after the trip to the ER thanking me and asking for help. She had recognized me at a different campus party, when I realized I was still not ready to be at parties with booze and I left; she didn’t and found herself someplace she didn’t want to be. I help her to keep steady and she helps me, too. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to ask her to be with me for the rest of our lives, bumps and all.


End file.
